


won't blow the house down

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Derek is ridiculous and adorable, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, M/M, Melissa is basically the best matchmaker, Mother-Son Relationship, Stiles does stupid things to his hair, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, and Derek tries to be a good surrogate son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Derek got advice from Melissa and one time she needed advice from him, featuring a Veronica Mars marathon and some ill-advised hair dye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't blow the house down

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this since 3x17 so it's nice to finally get it OUT OF THE WAY omg. Everyone needs to Mama McCall love. My bestie is the VMars expert, not me! Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own fault and you're welcome to point them out to me.

# 1.

Thursday evening before he departed, Derek found himself anxiously milling around the local department store, hovering between the food department and the furnishing department. He already knew he had everything he needed for the weekend. There was something he _wanted_ though- but he wasn’t sure _what_.

“Derek?”

The sound of a familiar voice shook him from his muddled state, and he turned on the spot, eyebrows raised. Melissa McCall stood in front of him, in lilac scrubs, holding a ready-made sandwich box and a bottle of water.

“Mrs McCall,” he said, trying to keep the surprised tone out of his voice, but pretty much failing, “Uh- hi. Hi.”

“ _Melissa_ ,” she said, and Derek pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his thumbs and blushed as he echoed her, trying to keep his hands at his sides, keep his stance open and welcoming, “I thought you were headed to San Fran this weekend?” she asked, brightly.

“Uh, yeah,” Derek said, stepping forward a bit, “In the morning. I uh… I realised I should probably bring a present? Or something. A gift.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, “A present.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, his cheeks feeling hot, and he had to force himself not to rock back and forth on his feet, just because Melissa made him feel like a kid. Not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’re a parental figure and I admire that’ kind of way.

“For Stiles.”

“Uh-” Derek puffed his cheeks out, and then nodded curtly, “Yeah. For Stiles. Like a- a housewarming present I guess. I don’t know. It was just a last minute idea- guess it’s. Stupid. Or. I don’t know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Melissa placated, with a warm smile, “It’s really not. What were you thinking of getting him?”

“Something he needs,” Derek shrugged, “I don’t want to- I want to be useful. And not give him something that will go on a shelf and never be used again. So I keep going between housewares and foodstuffs and it’s not going very well.”

Melissa looked thoughtful, “I spoke to him on the phone earlier actually, he said his studio is kind of… bare. Maybe a care package with a twist?”

Derek’s eyebrows rose in question.

“Like, household supplies, and foods, and things to keep him entertained when he’s not doing schoolwork. A starter pack.”

Derek nodded slowly, liking the idea.

“And he doesn’t have any of that stuff already? He wouldn’t have bought it already?”

“Nah,” Melissa shook her head, “On the phone he was just arriving at the apartment and he was kinda tired from driving and was getting ready to meet Scott for dinner or something. I know that boy, he’s like my second son. He’s not getting anything done until tomorrow at least.”

Derek looked at his feet, thoughtful, “That’s actually why I’m going up there. To help him and Scott settle in to their accommodation.”

Melissa placed her hand on her arm, adopting a softer tone.

“They really count on you now, you know? It’s really lovely that you’re going out of your way to help them.”

“They’re my… friends,” Derek said, a little hesitantly, a one-shouldered shrug making it’s appearance. “Like family now.”

“You _are_ family, now,” Melissa said, “Don’t doubt it.”

Derek chuffed out a laugh and shook his head a little bit. Melissa beamed as she looked up at him, and then gently caught his arm. Derek didn’t mind so much.

“C’mon, I’ve got forty-five minutes before I have to be at the hospital for my shift. I’ll help you pick up some stuff.”

 

The drive to the city had been long, and Derek was both tired and nervous as he carried a hefty box up towards the apartment block at the address Stiles had given him. Stiles was attending a college in the city – a particularly good one, and on a scholarship, to no-one’s surprise – but had opted to rent a little studio apartment rather than dorm. Derek didn’t blame him.

Derek shifted the box over onto his hip and elbowed the buzzer for the top most apartment. A few seconds later, there was a throaty, “Yo,” on the other end. Derek bit back his laugh, pressing the speaker button again.

“It’s me.”

“Aw dude, c’mon up,” Stiles chirped and Derek heard the automatic lock of the door buzz open, and he pushed his way through. Admittedly, Derek hadn’t seen Stiles a lot over the summer. Derek was working in the library, and Scott and the other teens were dicking around by the lake for their last summer together, but every time Stiles stopped by he was just that little bit more tan and breathless, rushing everywhere as always. He didn’t like to stay long at the library, because it was where his mother had worked, but every so often he would stop by to talk, and Derek had started to appreciate it more than he used to.

The elevator opened on the top floor to a long corridor, with only two doors. One was marked ‘fire escape’ so the other one was the one Derek knocked on. The door flew open, revealing a grinning Stiles.

“Yo Der- _whoa_ , that’s a box.”

Derek chuckled under his breath as he pushed his way through the door, and set the box down on the nearest surface – a little two person dining-table. He turned, getting his first good look at Stiles, whose face was open and curious, flickering from Derek to the box.

“Did you bring the kitchen sink too?” Stiles asked, a little smile curling at his lips, and Derek snorted.

“Almost,” he said. Stiles shuffled closer, and clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing him into a side hug like it was nothing unusual for them.

“Seriously, what is this,” he muttered, pulling back a flap of the box, and Derek saw the moment his face went soft, eyes widening a little, mouth opening in surprise.

“It’s just some stuff I thought you might need. You know. Minor appliances. Bathroom things. Sheets.”

“Oh my god, Derek, you didn’t have to- Oh my god, _towels_ ,” Stiles gasped, pulling the packed of fluffy orange towels out of the box and holding them to his face, “Soft. Oh Christ. Derek, you’re ridiculous, dude. I can’t believe you did this.”

Derek shrugged, hoping his beard covered his flush.

“It’s, y’know, a care package. And I, y’know…”

Stiles looked up again with that same doe-eyed expression, and bit down on his lip.

“This must have been… _so_ expensive.”

“But you know better than to try return one of my gifts,” Derek said, and Stiles laughed, covering his mouth. He only wavered for a moment, before reaching forward and wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug, a real one this time.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed, “And I do too, you know.”

And Derek nodded, because yeah, he’s always known that Stiles cared too.

 

Before they headed out to grab some dinner with Scott, Derek sent a text to Melissa to let her know he'd arrived safely and was with the guys – and to thank her for her advice. If Stiles kept looking over at him the entire drive over to Scott’s, Derek pretended not to notice.

# 2.

His apartment was bare. It was pretty damn bare, but Derek blamed that on the fact that he hadn’t been living there all that long, and with his job and everything, he hadn’t had a lot of _time_. But fuck, it was Christmas break soon and with all the teens coming home he just _knew_ there was going to be visitors – he just _knew_ Stiles was going to make some sort of comment.

He knocked on the door of the McCall house in a bit of a last minute freak out.

“I need your help,” he said, wincing almost as soon as the words left his mouth, “I mean. Yeah. Please.”

Melissa looked at him for a moment, then watching him wring his hands, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, without bothering to question him, “Of course, Derek.”

“It’s stupid-” he started, and then cut himself off, taking a step back, “I’m being stupid.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” she said carefully, reaching out to touch his arm, “Just take a minute, tell me what you need. I’ll help.”

Derek cleared his throat, feeling silly but comforted none the less, “They’re coming home soon. I don’t- I’m not exactly the most welcoming person.”

Melissa’s face softened, and she squeezed her fingers around his arm. The contact was strange, almost unwanted, but he didn’t push her away. She was a grounding presence right then and there.

“And we all understand. You don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” Derek said quickly, “I know. But, regardless of how _I_ may act, I want them to feel comfortable. I just- could use some help at the apartment? It’s…”

And, just, Derek Hale asking for help, he felt proud of himself for that. That he could do that now. And Melissa was looking at him like she knew too, something like pride in her eyes. Because it was months ago he saw her at the department store, but he had never asked for her help then. He was sure as hell asking her now.

“Yeah. Of course I will, Derek. You got it,” she said, nodding, with that same look of surety and determination that Derek often saw in Scott, “I’ll follow you over in the car.”

He agreed, smiling, muttering a soft, “thank you,” before giving her a quick, grateful nod.

They spent six hours, working quickly and methodically way into the night, unpacking his boxes and putting things in their place. Derek didn’t even know he _had_ throw pillows, but apparently he did, and apparently they were very nice.

After all the boxes were flattened and piled up, all the beds made, curtains fully hung – the works, he made tea for two and joined her on the couch, feeling only slightly awkward.

It reminded him of when he was younger, and when his mother would pull him away from the family, knowing how overwhelmed he often became. Melissa had that same calming aura around her, a sense of home about her. He felt it in the traces she left around his apartment.

“Thanks for this,” he said, halfway through his drink, “I’m sorry I get so. I panic.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said, “I told you, you’re family now. You’re practically Scott’s brother. Maybe just as much as Stiles is.”

“I hate feeling like I’m bothering you.”

“You _don’t_ , Derek. Without the kids around, there’s no one to bother me. It’s just me and John with the boys gone.”

Derek wanted to raise an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t, just smiled into his cup.

“It’s nice, to have someone wanting my help. Scott doesn’t need it right now— Scott hasn’t needed it in _years_. You’re no burden, Derek. Never were.”

He felt younger than he was, but older at the same time. Stiles said it more often than not; Derek was caught in a state between beyond-his-years and uncharacteristic-immaturity. He couldn’t tell which case this was, the anxiety he felt at the thought of Stiles’ return.

“Need me to follow you home? Make sure you get there safe?” he asked at the door, and Melissa shook her head, smiling as her curls bounced.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. I make this route all the time on the way home from the hospital.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist, hugged him, and he was almost too shocked to respond, but when he did it _tugged_ at his heart. Hurt in a good way.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she told him, “I’ll get Scott to shoot you a text when he arrives. Unless Stiles already has, by then.”

He didn’t know what to make of that comment, so he just smiled as she left, making sure to listen out that she got to her car safely. He decided he would send her flowers.

 

It was three days later when he got at text from Stiles, already knowing that he and Scott had arrived back in Beacon Hills the night before. Just the words **_coming over_** , to warn him. Derek didn’t mind, used to Stiles catching him off guard.

Derek expected Scott to be with him, but Stiles was alone when he opened the door.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles beamed, “Long time, no scowl.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed at Stiles, who grinned and laughed aloud, flinging himself forward to throw his arms around Derek (“That’s more like it!”). The tension seemed to seep out of his body almost immediately, and he hugged back just as fiercely. This was always the kind of contact he craved. He thought of how he used to push Stiles away, and wondered how the hell he ever managed it.

“No Scott?”

“Nah, spending time with his mom.”

“Your dad?”

“He’s working,” Stiles said, “And you’re literally next on my list. It goes Dad, McCalls, you, everyone else.”

Derek willed himself not to blush, but knew he was failing. Why was everyone so good at making him blush lately? It was the worst.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and Stiles looked at him for a moment, as if confused, something strange about his posture.

“No problem, Der. Wow, this place looks great, actually. Hey, you got coffee? I need a fix like, soon. And we should totally catch up. _Oh_ , okay, my god, I need to tell you about my Intro to Psychology professor-”

And like that, Derek let himself slip into the stream of Stiles’ babble, the words blanketing him comfort and familiarity. They sat on the couch, the same one Melissa had drank tea with him on last night, and Stiles’ hugged a throw pillow and nudged Derek’s thigh with his toes.

It was almost midnight when Stiles left, to meet his dad when his shift ended. Derek kind of didn’t want him to leave.

 

Derek bumped into the Sheriff at the coffee house in town, waiting in line for his order. Derek smiled politely as he normally would, a quick nod, but the Sheriff didn’t exactly give his usual response. Instead of the normal somewhat-smile Derek got, he got a pair of raised eyebrows, and a strange sort of huff.

“Everything alright, Sheriff?” Derek asked, hands in pockets.

“Just surprised to see you out alone, Derek,” Sheriff Stilinski shrugged good-naturedly, “Unless my son is lurking around a corner somewhere out of sight.”

Derek cleared his throat, “I, uh, I’m meeting him over at my place now actually. Just bringing coffee.”

John looked mildly surprised, but then sighed as he turned to pay for his coffee. Cup in hand, he regarded Derek, “I think you’ve seen more of my son lately than I have. A bit like old times,” he said, half smiling.

Derek let the woman behind him go in front, trying to form an answer.

“Um, there’s nothing- there’s nothing dangerous going on,” Derek said, “Not like old times.”

John scoffed, “But there’s _something_ going on.”

“We’re just- uh. Scott’s coming by too later. It’s not. Uh…”

“Just-” John raised his hands in defeat and stood back, “-I don’t have any say in what’s _going on._ Stiles isn’t a kid anymore, and even when he was, he didn’t make a habit of listening to me. Just do good by him, that’s all I ask. You’re a good man, Derek. Take care of him.”

“Uh, okay,” Derek said, with a slight huff, “But we’re not…”

The Sheriff had left. Derek ordered two coffees and drove out to his apartment block, parking next to the Jeep that idled in the lot. Stiles jumped out, wrapped up in his coat and scarf with his phone in his hand.

“I got coffee,” Derek said.

“Cool. Great,” Stiles said, sounding grateful but distracted, “I just got the weirdest text from my dad. Get this; ‘Always know, no matter what your choices are, I will always stand by you. I’m proud of you.’ Jesus H Christ, he’s never text me so many words at once. What the hell is this?”

“Uhhhh, let’s go inside,” Derek said quickly, ushering a befuddled Stiles towards the front door of his apartment. “The coffee’ll get cold.”

 

# 3.

Stiles went to Florida for Spring break, came back two days before he was due to go back school again. And he had a pink streak in his hair.

“Uh,” Derek said, and Melissa covered her mouth, and Scott just laughed so hard he ended up on his knees.

“Okay, but, it wasn’t pink originally, just blond,” Stiles said, peering in the hall mirror and fluffing the front of his hair, “One of the girls was touching up her roots and I was asleep. She thought it’d be funny.”

“Okay,” Melissa hedged, glancing between Scott on the floor, Stiles in the mirror, and Derek in the kitchen doorframe, “So why is it pink now?”

“Um, _I_ thought it would be funny.”

Scott cracked up even harder, wheezing in a way he hadn’t in years.

“You weren’t sober, were you,” Melissa deadpanned.

“I can’t release that information to the public,” Stiles replied, fluffing his hair again, “But it’s grown on me. I like it. What do you think, Derek?”

Derek opened his mouth and then closed it again. And repeated. And then said, “Have you seen your dad yet?”

Scott wheezed and banged the carpet with his fist.

“No,” Stiles straightened up, “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

“He respects your choices, Stiles,” Scott choked, wiping the tears from his eyes, “Remind him of that.”

Melissa sighed, muttered something about grey hairs.

“Just, go get ready for dinner, okay? You’ve been driving all day, Stiles, and Scott’s been down at the veterinary surgery all morning. Two of you need to clean up.”

Stiles and Scott were shoving at each other and shrieking as they went up the stairs, and Derek followed Melissa into the kitchen with a sigh.

“Hang in there, Derek,” she gave his shoulder a squeeze, “You only have to deal with them until tonight. I’ve got them until Sunday.”

“The Sheriff’s house still being aired out?” Derek asked, opening the cutlery drawer. He’d helped with the painting himself.

“Yeah,” Melissa said, “John’s in the spare room, Scott and Stiles in Scott’s old room.”

There was a loud thump and some yelling from upstairs, and Melissa visibly tensed.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?” She asked.

“You miss having them around,” Derek smirked, setting some of the knives and forks out on the table.

“So do you,” she countered, and Derek shrugged shamelessly.

“It’s quiet when they’re not around,” he admitted.

“You mean when Stiles isn’t around.”

Derek looked up, to see Melissa side-eyeing him from the stove, and his stomach lurched.

“Whatever Sheriff Stilinski has told you isn’t true,” he said, his mind flitting back months to when he had run into the Sheriff at the coffee place in town. He’d often seen both the Sheriff and Melissa since then, and visited both Stiles and Scott, but only now had anything come up about the comments made by John Stilinski in the café.

Melissa looked confused.

“So you and Stiles aren’t?”

“No,” Derek said, shaking his head, “That’s- Sheriff Stilinski misinterpreted something I said, I guess. We just… learned to enjoy each other’s company. Now that things are quiet around here, there’s none of that angry tension between us.”

Melissa began dishing out the food onto serving plates to set out on the table, her lips pressed together as she processed.

“There’s just a _different_ kind of tension now,” she said. Derek almost dropped a decanter.

She wasn’t wrong. Things were definitely _charged_ when Stiles was around Derek. There was definitely an edge to their conversations that some might call flirty. Even, occasionally, intimate.

Derek finished setting the table and leaned back against the counter.

“We understand each other, I guess. It’s easy to connect to someone who’s known loss like you, who knows that kind of guilt and burden. And it could have been something stifling, something that ultimately ended our friendship? But Stiles didn’t make it that. He made it something better. Something easy.”

Melissa put down her serving spoon and turned around drying her hands on a cloth, “And if he ever wanted something more than just that friendship from you?”

Derek felt his heart wrench as he shook his head, “He’s so young.”

“Derek, that’s- that’s _crazy_. You know it is! After everything those boys have been through? They’re anything but _young_. Sure, they’ve got age on their sides, but that’s just _youth_. No one their age has experienced what they have. That’s not young.”

“I _know_ that,” Derek hissed, glaring at his feet, “I’ve thought about it, okay? But Stiles isn’t even nineteen yet, and I’m so much older, _twenty-six_ Melissa, and no matter what I want from him, how _much_ I want from him? He shouldn’t be forced to settle down. Because that’s what I want. To settle down. I want him. I want only him, and I didn’t even think that kind of feeling could be real, okay? I don’t want to force that on him.”

Melissa huffed and turned back to her dishes, noisily spooning out mashed potatoes before carrying it over to the table, and Derek took some of the other dishes as he followed her.

“You know what I think, Derek?”

“What,” he asked, quietly.

“I think, you never know until you ask. I think Stiles has been ready to be with you from the second he set eyes on you. I think he was so- so _confused_ by it, he mistook it for hate. And now that he’s finally got his feelings in order? He thinks he’s missed the window, or he thinks he’s too _young_ for you. Prove him wrong. That’s what I think.”

“Melissa…”

“I’ve helplessly watched him be unhappy for years, I can’t believe you’re not doing anything about it. He's my son. He is. I didn't carry him for nine months but you know what, I carried him to Claudia's bedside when he fell asleep in the waiting room chairs.”

“Please-”

“Just, listen to my advice, please, Derek? I know you want to give him that space, to be a college kid and mess around with girls and boys alike. But what if he meets someone else? What if he meets someone, and even then he’s still the only one you want forever and ever amen?”

Her words were ringing in his ears when the front door opened and Sheriff Stilinski walked in, just in time for dinner after the shift.

“Smells great, Mel,” he said, and then regarded Derek with a nod, “Where’re the other two?”

“Upstairs,” Melissa said, “Mind grabbing them, Derek?”

Derek jerked his head affirmatively and ducked the hell out of there, glad for the excuse to end the conversation. He found Stiles and Scott splayed out across Scott’s bed, breathless, and Stiles’ shirt was rucked up to show a bright pink hand-mark on his stomach, slapped into submission.

“I take it you two will be sitting at the kiddie table,” he said, eying them suspiciously.

“Only if there are nuggets,” Stiles said, sitting up with a smile.

 

After dinner, Derek sat out on the back porch of the McCall house with his glass of wine, breath clouding the cold spring air as it left his mouth. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but he didn’t often feel the cold. It was fine.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Stiles until he was right beside him.

“ _You_ can’t even _get_ drunk on this,” Stiles whined, and then prised the glass from Derek’s fingers to take a drink. Derek let him, surprisingly, “I can.”

“You probably shouldn’t, though,” Derek said, smirking, but made no move to take the glass back. He didn’t much feel like drinking it anyway. Stiles shuddered and tucked himself deeper into his jacket, and then into Derek’s side.

“Did you hear what dad said about my hair?” he asked. Derek chuckled and shook his head.

“No, actually, what did he say?”

Stiles adopted a squint and tilted his head in a bad impression of his father, “I always did prefer when you wore a buzz.”

Derek let out a bark of laughter and covered his mouth, remembering the buzzcut Stiles hadn’t sported since he was sixteen. He now wore it longer on top, short sides. Scott once teased him about being one step away from an undercut, and Stiles and shrugged and said, “At least _I_ could pull it off, Scotty.”

Derek looked over at him now, at the pale pink streak running through the front of his hair. Earlier it had been meticulously styled into a coif as usual, now a haphazardly curling mess from Stiles running his hands through it.

“I kind of like it,” Derek admitted, and Stiles’ eyes went wide.

“Me too,” he whispered, “I never do stupid things with my hair. I love that I did a stupid thing.”

Derek chuffed out a laugh as Stiles took another sip from his class, and he reached out a hand to carefully fix the pastel strands back into place. Stiles peeked at him over the collar of his jacket, eyes round and fulgent honey brown in the dying light.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Derek asked, after a moment, and Stiles’ eyebrows perked up a little.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not,” he answered, voice soft and low, and Derek would swear he was blushing.

Derek knocked his knee against Stiles’ and leaned in a little closer.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Um,” Stiles bit down on his lip, “No plans as of yet.”

“Can I come see you?”

“Scott won’t be around,” Stiles murmured, “He’s doing that work experience thing-”

“I didn’t ask to see Scott, though,” Derek spoke softly, “I asked, can I see you?”

“You want to see me?”

“Since you’re not seeing anyone.”

Stiles grinned, laughing softly as he nodded. Derek couldn’t feel the cold for the burning heat in his chest.

“Yeah. Of course. Come see me. I want you to come.”

Derek grinned too, let Stiles lean into him a finish the glass of wine on the porch. Scott seemed to be smiling a little brighter when they got back inside, so Derek took it as a good sign and remembered that he should always listen to Melissa.

 

# 4.

Derek was sitting on the couch with his laptop propped open on his knees, brow furrowed as he browsed.

“I don’t know the city that well,” he said, “and I want to do something he’ll enjoy?”

“You don’t wanna mess up,” Melissa said, setting a mug of coffee down on the table.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Stiles is no hopeless romantic, Derek,” she hummed, “He won’t care what you do, as long as you’re there.”

“Still. I don’t want to do that old dinner and a walk-in-the-park routine.”

“Neither will he.”

Derek sighed, “Then what? What do I do? How do I impress?”

Melissa put her feet up on the coffee table, and Derek smiled because he knew if John were to do that, she would berate him for it.

“It’s _Stiles_. You don’t have to impress him. Just make him laugh. Do something silly. He’ll love it.”

Derek was browsing the listings for Stiles’ local movie theatre, when something -something ridiculous- caught his eye, and he laughed aloud. It was perfect.

 

“Derek, have you even _seen_ Veronica Mars?”

“No, but you were always trying to get the pack to watch it so I figured-”

“That I’d spend 16 hours with you in a dark movie theatre in order to get you to watch it?”

Derek rested his chin in his hand, sending Stiles an ever-charming grin.

“Well, we’re sitting here now, aren’t we.”

Stiles laughed and took a sip from his ridiculously large soda, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Derek rolled his head against the headrest of the theatre seat, “What, asking you on a date? Or committing myself to a Veronica Mars marathon.”

“Hey, you knew exactly what you were getting into when you asked me out.”

“What is this show even about?”

“Uh,” Stiles chewed on his straw, “It’s like, a highschool setting, and Veronica’s best friend was killed and she solves mysteries. It’s great.”

Derek arched an eyebrow and sank back into the seat.

“You’re lucky I like you a lot.”

Stiles punched him in the shoulder, laughing as the lights started to dim and the rest of the movie-goers fell silent.

Four episodes in, there was a twenty-minute break. Stiles went to the bathroom, and when he came back, he smoothly pushed the armrest between their chairs out of the way, and lifted Derek’s arm around him.

By the next break, Derek was ready to leave, and made it vocally apparent.

“Dude, shut up, Logan and Veronica haven’t even kissed yet,” Stiles murmured, as he sat up and stretched.

“ _They kiss?_ Oh my god,” Derek received a dirty look from a couple passing their row, and Stiles has to stifle his laughter in his sleeve.

“Shush! Spoilers.”

“I need to know.”

“You have to wait.”

“But Logan is such an asshole. Gross, I can’t— is Veronica gonna show him how to be good again? Stiles, I can’t sit through this-” Derek hoped the distaste in his voice was more obvious than the secret interest.

“Show him how to— _shit,_ Derek, this isn’t a John Hughes movie,” Stiles exasperated, edging out of their row of seats, and Derek stood to follow him. He wanted more Red Vines if they were going to stay for more.

“I mean, he’s an asshole but I kind of connect with him. You’re totally Veronica,” he said, “Your dad is the Sheriff and everything, I mean.”

“Jesus, Derek, shut _up_ oh my- _hey_ , why am I the girl?”

“Veronica is _not_ just a girl. She’s a _goddess_.”

Stiles shot Derek a worried look and then reached out to touch his forehead with the back of his hand. Derek swatted him away with a roll of his eyes.

“I think that’s enough VMars for you,” Stiles mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

“ _But they haven’t kissed yet!_ ”

Stiles laughed (the tables had turned) and rubbed his hand over his jaw, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He reached forward, circling his thumb and forefinger around Derek’s wrist.

“How about I kiss you instead?”

Derek went still, torn between wanting to watch the marathon, wanting to _leave_ the marathon, and the three-years of wanting to kiss Stiles.

“Veronica what,” he said, and Stiles laughed so loud it was kind of startling, before he reeled Derek in by the front of his sweater, a surprisingly more confident kisser than Derek had ever expected. It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt like they had been doing it for years.

“I guess we can stay until the next break,” Stiles sighed, content, and went to get more popcorn and Red Vines.

They left at 3am, with the entirety of season one under their belts.

 

Stiles’ apartment was only a couple of minutes walking distance away from the theatre so they ambled back, Stiles feeling safe enough to walk in dark next to Derek. It was cold, so he grabbed Derek’s wrist and pulled his arm around his shoulder, despite the fact that they were nearly the same height. Towards the end of the marathon, Stiles had been dozing off, but he seemed wide awake now in the cool night air.

Derek hesitated at the door of Stiles’ apartment block, so Stiles dragged him into a kiss again, just like before, and it was so easy to melt into him, push him against the door and hold him there. Kiss him in the street.

“This is ludicrous,” Stiles murmured, “Why are we dancing around this?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replied, his mouth pressed to Stiles’ neck just below his jaw, “Are you nervous?”

“No, I want this,” Stiles replied, a little breathless, “Have for a long time.”

Stiles punched in the code for the door, led Derek into the elevator where he curled his arms around Derek’s waist and nosed at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, until they reached the top floor. Stiles unlocked his door, let them both inside, and toed off his boots. Derek followed suit; Stiles may not have been nervous, but he definitely was. At least a little bit.

“I don’t know where you got the idea for… _that_ ,” Stiles said, laughing through the words and waving his hands a bit, meaning the marathon, “But it was ridiculous, okay, and kind of perfect? Mostly ridiculous.”

“Ludicrous,” Derek said, echoing Stiles’ earlier words. Stiles grinned.

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, okay, less talking and more kissing.”

Stiles grasped the hem of Derek’s sweater in his hands and lifted, giggling about the thumb-holes in the sleeves, running his hands over Derek’s torso, softer than it used to be but perfect according to the words Stiles kept whispering.

Derek practically had to peel off Stiles’ boxer-briefs and jeans, the skinny ones he wore to impress, the ones that’d made Derek want to put his hands on Stiles’ ass all night. Now he could. Stiles fumbled with the buttons of Derek’s fly as Derek sat on the edge of the bed and wound Stiles in, pulling him to straddle his thighs on the mattress.

“This okay?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, “I mean, is it? I’ve never- I’m okay. Is it okay for you?”

Derek took a moment to process Stiles saying _I’ve never_ , before nodding, lifting his hips to Stiles could strip off his jeans, and kiss him again. Yes, he was definitely okay.

Stiles was pushing him down, mouth hot and cock hard against Derek’s thigh as he rolled his hips forward. Derek grunted, turned them over until he could press Stiles down against the mattress, catch a breath.

“What do you want?” he breathed, and Stiles grinned, tipping his head back as he  ran a hand through his hair – pink streak still in place.

“Everything,” he said softly, “I want you. Everything with you.”

Derek groaned quietly, taking a minute to savour the words before ducking his head to catch Stiles’ lips with his, Stiles lifting up easily to curl his legs up around Derek’s ribs. Stiles’ arms, long and muscly, reached down to push Derek’s underwear down his thighs, lowering his legs to push them off with his feet. Derek chuckled, unsurprised that Stiles’ dexterity lay solely (well, mostly) in his bedroom skills.

“You keep lube around here?” Derek asked, and Stiles huffed out a laugh, worming away from Derek to get to his bedside table.

“Of course,” he mumbled, smiling as Derek placed soft kisses along his flanks, waiting until he turned back over, “I’ve got needs.”

Derek chuckled, taking the bottle from Stiles and slicking up his fingers. Stiles hummed appreciatively, and turned over onto his stomach, hips lifted into the air for Derek. He made a soft noise, shuddering when Derek brushed the tip of his middle finger over the tight ring of muscle, sliding in slowly with a groan.

“Fuck,” Derek breathed out, echoed by Stiles, lifting his hips against Derek’s hand.

“Not made of glass, Der. C’mon. Another finger.”

Derek relented, testing a second finger, slipping it in and scissoring out as Stiles hiccupped into the comforter, turning his head back to look at Derek. He grinned, biting his lip, and Derek spread his fingers to slide another in, Stiles just opening up for him so easily, deeply flushed and ready.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Derek murmured, and Stiles propped himself up on his elbow, hand in his hair as he pushed back on Derek’s fingers and whined about _hurrying the fuck up_. Derek grinned back at him, watching as he brushed his fingers over that sweet spot, and Stiles’ mouth fell open, eyebrows drawn.

“ _Fuck_ , c’mon. Please.”

“Just a bit longer.”

“Jesus, no, now, I’ve waited for this-”

Derek pulled his hand away, and Stiles rolled over onto his back, hands reaching out and grabbing at Derek’s biceps, pulling him in close.

“Condom?” Derek asked, and Stiles shook his head feverishly, scooting down closer to Derek, unfolding his legs over Derek’s thighs.

“No, wanna feel you like this.”

Derek exhaled a shuddering breath as Stiles got a hand around his cock, dribbling lube along the shaft, fist tight when he jerked him off a little. Derek leaned over him, moving Stiles into position beneath him. Stiles resumed his earlier position, legs curling up around Derek’s hips, then up higher around his ribs as he found a comfortable space, a perfect fit.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he breathed, just before Derek’s mouth collided with his, his cock slowly pressing in. Stiles gasped, mouth falling open at the breaching sensation, his back arching up, twitching to accommodate. Derek stilled, catching the pinched look on Stiles’ face.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Stiles replied, sounding a little unsure, “It doesn’t hurt. Just feels strange.”

“Won’t always feel like that,” Derek murmured, leaning down to press his mouth to Stiles’ throat as he tipped his head back, “Trust me.”

“I do,” Stiles said fondly, smiling into Derek’s temple, daringly rolling his hips, “Come on.”

Derek grinned through a groan, drinking in the change in Stiles’ expression as he eased out and then back in, working up a slow and easy rhythm.

“You’re – _damn_ – so tight,” Derek breathed out, and Stiles moaned quietly, just as breathless as he pressed his palm flat over his stomach, sliding down to grasp his cock, “Lift your hips for me.”

“Oh fuck,” Stiles murmured, grunting as he did as was asked, and Derek lifted him higher over his thighs, “That- that’s it. _God_. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Derek echoed, hands steady against the small of Stiles’ back, as he held him in place, letting Stiles slink back against the sheets, flushed all down his chest and thighs, “You good?”

“Mmm, yeah, c’mon fuck me,” Stiles urged, pressing a hand against Derek’s chest and digging his blunted nails in– and Derek took the request to heart. Stiles let out a yelp that turned into laughter as Derek thrust into him, harder than before, no longer cautious. Stiles was overwhelmed, breathing harsh, head tipped back and a hand unmoving on his dick, just being _fucked_ and looking like he’d seen another world.

And the _noises_ he made, soft breathless cut off moans, cultivated from years of silent orgasms, devastatingly deep groans every so often, the angle of Derek’s thrusts forcing the heel of Stiles’ foot deeper into Derek’s back. Derek could hardly take his eyes off him, lost in the wet heat inside, in the sounds of Stiles getting lost too.

Stiles’ hand started moving, jerking quickly, racing towards his orgasm when Derek bat his hand away and replaced it with his own, leaning down over him, eager for another kiss. Stiles babbled, only some of his words intelligible, eyes closed and brows drawn together as he sunk into the feeling, the enjoyment of the sensation.

“Fuck, _Derek_ , I-”

“Look at me,” Derek breathed, “I want you looking at me when you come.”

Stiles cried out, shoulders shaking as he lifted his eyes to meet Derek’s gasping with every thrust. Derek’s fist tightened around his cock and Stiles just shook apart, mouth open with a guttural groan as he came, and Derek followed, forehead pressed to Stiles’.

When they managed to untangle, catch their breath, Stiles began to giggle. He rolled over onto his side, smiling.

“Still glad it was me?” Derek asked.

“Yep,” Stiles chirped, poking him in the chest, “Are you?”

“Absolutely.”

Stiles tucked his face in under Derek’s arm, rolling fully onto his stomach with a groan.

“I can’t believe we attended a Veronica Mars marathon.”

“Blame Melissa.”

“I will not. I’ll send her a box of chocolates.”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“Do you want me to download Season Two in the morning?”

“…Yes.”

 

Derek had been home three days and was fixing a loose board on the McCall’s front porch when Melissa wandered out to the mailbox, and returned with a box of chocolates.

“You’re welcome,” she said, as she passed by him again, and Derek ducked his head, determined to hide his blush.

 

# 5.

Derek and the Sheriff’s relationship had gotten better over the years – but Derek still got the impression that the Sheriff didn’t exactly, well, Derek wasn’t his favourite person. And how he was dating his son.

Melissa knew. She’d known right from the get go, but she’d also known to keep it a secret, that neither Derek nor Stiles were ready to spread the news. Derek travelled up to San Francisco most weekends, and occasionally Stiles drove down when he didn’t have too much of a workload, but his father still didn’t know.

“I’ll make sure he’s off duty and not carrying a gun when we tell him,” Stiles joked one evening, flat out on the McCall’s sofa on top of Derek. Scott, who was home for the weekend too, laughed into his coffee, feet up on the table. Stiles cackled, turning his face into Derek’s chest, but Derek didn’t find it so funny.

“Confiscate his aconite bullets too,” Scott added, and Derek excused himself to the kitchen before he snapped at either his alpha or his boyfriend – both bad ideas. Melissa threw him a sympathetic look when he slouched against the countertop, eyes closed, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He won’t shoot you,” she said, taking a moment to tie up her hair, “You know that, right?”

Derek shot her a look mostly made up of eyebrows and glower, and Melissa laughed, before dragging him down by the shoulders into a hug. He slunk into the embrace, propping his chin up over her shoulder and sighing deeply.

“I’ve never exactly made the best impression with the Sheriff,” Derek muttered, “I’m actually kind of terrified of him. Don’t tell him.”

Melissa made a noise of disbelief and pulled back, pressing her palms to Derek’s cheeks in the motherly way he’d become accustomed to.

“You? Big Bad Wolf, scared of the Sheriff?”

“I’m not the Big Bad wolf,” Derek frowned, “I’m just- the Gravely Misunderstood Wolf.”

Melissa had to let go of him she laughed so hard, and Derek was finding it hard not to laugh too, rubbing his chin with the heel of his palm.

“Look,” Melissa said, still beaming, “You’ve got _nothing_ to worry about. You know what John said the other night? He said, ‘I don’t know who, how, or why, but I haven’t seen Stiles so happy in such a long time,’ so I think he’s really not going to mind that you’re dating. And I think if anything, he might just like you that much more, because you make Stiles _so happy_.”

Derek nodded, folding his arms over his chest, hands hugging his shoulders as he curled in on himself.

“Derek, I’m serious,” she said, and Derek gave a quick, jerky nod in response, “He won’t care about what’s happened in the past as long as you’re doing right by Stiles in the present. And for the future.”

“That’s super deep, Mel,” Stiles said, lingering in the doorway, “And true. So, so true. Is there more coffee cake, oh Wise One?”

Melissa rolled her eyes, but pointed to the pantry. She gave Derek a pointed look then, squeezing his arm before heading out towards the living room to join her son. Stiles reappeared from the pantry with the cake in question and set it down on the counter, reaching for a knife.

“She’s right, though,” Stiles said starchily, “He won’t care. He’ll be happy I’m happy. That you’re happy. I don’t think you understand how much he actually cares about you? Feels responsible for you?”

“He shouldn’t feel responsible-”

“There was no one taking _care_ of you, Derek,” Stiles frowned, “But now you’ve got me, you’ve got Melissa, Scott. You’ve got my dad. He cares about you, I swear to mom he does.”

Derek turned his head slightly as Stiles put the cake away, bar the slice he had cut, which he put on a small plate. Stiles disappeared into the pantry for a minute before he came back, propping himself up next to Derek, who was still eying the floor with a certain amount of angst.

“So, why haven’t we told him yet?”

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, “I like having you to myself? Once I tell him, he’ll want to start having family dinners with the five of us – six when Isaac comes back from London – and I dunno. I feel like it’ll be awkward when I want to spend the night with you.”

Derek stared at him in disbelief as Stiles thumbed at a piece of icing from the cake and then sucked it into his mouth.

“You dick.”

“What.”

“ _That’s_ why you didn’t want to tell him?” Derek exasperated, “And then you keep joking about him shooting me? You are _such_ a dick.”

Stiles looked weary, “Dude, I thought you knew that about me. I’m extremely dickish. I make horrible, offensive jokes.”

“I did, but I didn’t- Stiles, I’ve been freaking out. I’ve been so _anxious_ about this, about him finding out,” Derek frowned, as Stiles eyes widened in realisation.

“Shit, Derek, I— I haven’t been _hiding_ you or anything. I’m not ashamed of you- fuck. I just wanted time for it to be just us, to find our rhythm, y’know? I didn’t mean to make you _nervous_.”

Derek still frowned as he reached over to pick at a piece of cake, and Stiles made a choked noise, almost cooing, and pulled Derek into him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re infuriating,” Derek mumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t think about stuff.”

“I should have told you.”

“Tell me things from now on.”

“Ok. This cake is great.”

“You’ve got frosting in your beard.”

Derek decided their mini-crisis was over, leaning in for a kiss to make sure they were okay, internally sighing with relief when Stiles kissed him back, deep and quick, before pulling back.

“No, like, as much as I love kissing you and stuff, that cake _is_ great, and I want to eat it.”

“Are you really going to eat it with your hands?” Derek asked, already knowing the answer, how careless and messy Stiles really was. How much Derek didn’t care.

“Why the fuck not.”

“I love you.”

Stiles’ hands fumbled with the plate, and it clattered back down onto the worktop as he turned back to Derek, shock written all over his face. Maybe it was too fast, only five weeks to the day of their first date, but Derek was so _over_ waiting around. He thought knowing Stiles for the past two and a half years more than entitled him to saying those three words and meaning them. _Tell me things from now on_ , Stiles had just said. Derek intended to do that as best as he could.

Stiles snapped out of his blank state, exhaling loudly.

“Fuck the cake,” he said, dragged Derek in again to finish that kiss, just as deep and keen as before, but slower, harder, hands caught in the front of Derek’s shirt. “Oh- oh,” he mumbled, pulling away, “I love you too.”

“Got that,” Derek nodded.

Stiles grinned, starting to lean in again when his eyes focussed on something over Derek’s shoulder, and his eyes widened.

“Oh,” he said.

“I see why you told me to wait,” Sheriff Stilinski said over his shoulder, where Melissa hovered, looking apologetic. Stiles’ hands clenched and unclenched in Derek’s shirt, like he was unsure what to do.

“Dad?”

The Sheriff waved his hand dismissively, “Just cut me some of that cake before you come back in here.”

“No. No cake,” Stiles said, “Now go away. I’m working on my stubble burn.”

The Sheriff looked physically pained as he said “I’m just gonna go,” and left. And that was it? No vague (or not-so-vague) threats to Derek’s life. No cleaning of any guns in Derek’s presence while he was given a stern talking to. Nothing. Just relief.

Derek laughed, because when he looked back at Stiles, he was stuffing the remainder of his cake into his mouth. It really didn’t fit.

“You’re so hot,” Derek said idly, lifting his hand to poke one of Stiles’ bulging cheeks as Stiles tried not to crack up, “I would take you right now if could. Passionately.”

Stiles turned away as he tried to swallow, laughing, hiccupping, Derek rubbing his back and thinking Stiles was definitely worth all the awkward family dinners he saw in his future.

 

# +1.

Derek was far more used to seeing Melissa looking so nervous than he would like, the way her eyebrows pinched, the way she bit her nails like a kid. It was a little discomforting to him.

“Everything okay?” He asked her. John was at the bar ordering drinks for everyone, Stiles had excused himself to the restrooms, Scott hadn’t arrived, and it was just him and Melissa in the booth of the restaurant.

She nodded her head, forcing a little smile onto her face.

“Yeah? Yeah, I’m- I’m fine, Derek, really.”

He raised an eyebrow at her tone of voice; surely she must have sounded uncertain even to her own ears from the way she winced as the words left her mouth. Derek wouldn’t press her, though.

“You can tell me anything,” he said, fixing his napkin idly, “You always give me advice, I could try return the favour if you ever need it.”

Melissa looked at him with bright, thankful eyes, and squeezed his arm gently, a comforting gesture he had grown to appreciate.

“John and I are telling the boys tonight.”

Derek’s lips twitched into a smile as he turned his head slightly, “Thank god. Stiles is getting suspicious and I hate keeping secrets from him.”

“He is?” Melissa asked, eyes widening, “I had no idea.”

“He’s just noticed that you two spend a lot of time together,” Derek said, “I don’t get what you’re worried about? You _know_ Scott already thinks of John like a father, and you know how much Stiles loves you.”

“I don’t want him to think— just, Claudia was a good friend. I’m not trying to take her place. I would never.”

“Stiles would never think that,” Derek insisted, “Never.”

Melissa huffed out a nervous sigh, nodding her head, “I know. But when it comes down to the moment of truth, the only thing you can think is worst case scenario.”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Nerves are good. It means that you have something important, something you don’t want to lose. Remember how I thought Stiles’ dad would react when we told him about us? I was so wrong it’s actually kind of funny. But we’re happy now.”

“We’re a family,” Melissa agreed, and the word alone set off a spiral of warmth in Derek’s chest. Stiles had emerged from the bathroom and he was hovering near his Dad to help with drinks. Derek caught his eye, winking across the room, Stiles’ face splitting into a grin.

“He loves you so much,” Melissa mused, watching the exchange.

“The feeling is mutual,” Derek replied, resting his chin in his hands, elbows against the table. Melissa laughed aloud, shaking her head at him.

“Derek Hale, I hardly recognise you. You’ve grown into a wonderful man.”

Derek felt his cheeks heat up, ducking his head away.

“Thank you,” he muttered, eyes cast down at the surface of their table.

“It’s true. I’d be proud to call you my son.”

Derek looked up, surprised, lost for words. Luckily he didn’t need them, because John sat down then with his drink and a glass of white wine for Melissa, and Stiles followed with his and Derek’s drinks.

“Scott’s just down the street,” Stiles said, holding up his phone once he had settled, leaning his entire right side into Derek, “He’ll be here in a sec.”

Melissa smiled tightly, playing with the edge of her napkin, and Stiles looked confusedly around the table. Derek grabbed his hand reassuringly, holding it against his knee under the table.

Scott arrived, beaming as usual and dressed up a little, but his hair was damp as if from a shower as he slid into the booth next to his mother.

“I’m _starving_ ,” he said, unprompted, “Have we ordered yet?”

 

Dinner went smoothly, everyone laughing and chattering, catching up on what they had been missing the last couple of weeks. Stiles rambled on about his coursework, and about the last movie he and Derek had gone to see (in the same theatre as their first, ridiculous date). Scott talked about his apprenticeships in various veterinary practices around the state, and Derek, John and Melissa talked about their jobs.

It was easy, a comfort Derek had come to love. Being surrounded by people he thought of like a family.

“So, um, not that this isn’t great,” Stiles broached, once the coffee had been served, “But why are we here? Not that group dinners aren’t great. But there’s something going on, right?”

Scott cocked his head slightly, and looked between his mother and the Sheriff, then to Derek and Stiles.

“Oh god,” he said, suddenly, “I’m totally a fifth wheel.”

“What?” Melissa asked, lifting her head slightly, and Stiles’ eyes widened— Derek grabbed his hands as he threatened to flail.

“Oh my god, you-” he nearly knocked the coffee, weaselling out of Derek’s playful grip, “You totally are.”

“What?” Melissa said again.

“You’re dating,” Scott said, gesturing between his mom and Stiles’ dad, “You’re actually… oh my god. You’re doing the do.”

“Oh my god, thirteen year old me is crying with joy,” Stiles enthused, and Scott reached out for a high-five. Derek couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the exchange, and the Sheriff just pinched the bridge of his nose, and rested an elbow on the table.

“Guys, this means I’m totally bringing Kira to every family dinner ever again. I’m not staying a fifth wheel.”

“She’s always welcome,” Melissa said, sounding a little stunned. Derek caught her eye and grinned, feeling the excited energy spilling off of Stiles, the contentedness of Scott curled up next to his mother, and the happiness between Melissa and John. Melissa caught Derek’s gaze, and held it, “Family is always welcome.”

Derek felt Stiles’ hands slipping back into his under the table as he slouched down in his chair, never feeling as at ease as he did in that moment.

“So...” Stiles said, at the easy lull in conversation, “Since we’re family and all, I guess that means the cheque is on you, dad.”

“The cheque is always on me,” John grumbled, but paid anyway.

 

“I know you now know why I love Melissa so much,” Stiles said, toes pushing against Derek’s thigh from where we was draped horizontally across the bed, head over the edge. Derek marked the page of his book with his finger and looked up, and eyebrow raised.

“Hmm?” he prompted. Stiles sat up, face flushed from the blood having rushed to his head in his earlier position.

“She believes in togetherness. It was something _my_ mom had also found very important. After she died, Melissa kept me and my dad together. I know she’s trying not to take the place of my mother, and that she never will, but no one else could get closer to it than she has.”

Derek was quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“I didn’t know that,” he pointed out.

“Not what I meant. I just mean, she doesn’t want you to be alone. She doesn’t want _anyone_ to have to be alone. It’s just me and my dad. It’s just her and Scott. When Scott and I are at school? It’s just them on their own.”

Derek nodded, “And it’s just me on my own too.”

“But not when we’re together,” Stiles pointed out, smiling as he crawled forward, slinking into his usual spot next to Derek, “She said we’re stubborn men, all of us. Sometimes we need a push in the right direction.”

“It’s true,” Derek said candidly, “I never thought you would want to be with me. She convinced me otherwise.”

Stiles let out a noise that could only be described as a giggle, leaning in to brush his lips along the curve of Derek's neck.

“I'll have to send her a bottle of wine.”

“I suppose I'll have to buy it for you.”

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, “We'll cosign the card, send it together.”

Derek turned his head to bump his nose against Stiles', smiling, so damn grateful for where he was in his life.

“Together. Yeah,” he said, “I think she'll like that.”


End file.
